


Of deceiving appearances and unexpected surprises

by Lilith_the_ancient



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Milking, Non Consensual, Prostate Massage, Restraints, Some Sexual Violence, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 07:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilith_the_ancient/pseuds/Lilith_the_ancient
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond thinks he is finally going to seal the deal with Q, but when he arrives at Q's apartment he gets an unpleasant surprise in the form of the presumed dead Silva who has some unfinished business with the agent.<br/>Basically unapologetic, ridiculously filthy PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of deceiving appearances and unexpected surprises

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tumblr user blinkingkills she wanted a q00silva threesome with any of the two domming the other party. A thanks for all the wonderful art she has been supplying for the 00silva tag.

Bond had a spring in his step. After weeks of bickering and flat-out flirtation, that afternoon he had finally gotten his new Quartermaster pressed up against a desk and his hands under his waistband. Q had huffed and struggled out of his grasp, muttering about Bond being unprofessional and jeopardising Q's job, but as he went home, Bond found a piece of paper in his jacket with Q's address scribbled on it, along with '21:30, tonight' and a code.

 

It was rare for Bond to take an interest in a man, but Q was both attractive and clever. He wasn't afraid to push back when Bond pushed his buttons and James respected that, was drawn to it. Of course, office flings were generally a bad idea, but then when had James Bond ever done anything by the book?

 

He found the address without difficulty and once he got up to Q's apartment, he realize that the code was for the door, an automatic lock. He typed it in and walked through the door. Hanging his coat in the hall, he called out for Q, but there was no answer. As he walked into the living room, the sight that greeted him made his heart miss a beat and his blood run cold. He pulled out his gun as a reflex, hardly realizing what he was doing.

 

Silva was sitting on the couch, impeccably dressed and completely relaxed. Seeing your presumably dead foe alive and well on your conquest's couch was shocking enough, but what really disturbed Bond was Q. He was naked and kneeling on the couch next to Silva. His eyes were huge and frightened, there was a gag in his mouth and a rope around his neck, which seemed to be attached to his bound arms, behind his back, restricting his ability to move. A few cuts and bruises adorned his chest and there were tears on his face. But the thing that worried Bond the most, was the gun Silva was holding against Q's head.

 

"Hello Mr. Bond, how nice of you to join us. If you would please give me your gun, unless you want the pretty Quartermaster here to meet a very unfortunate end."

 

James looked at Silva, then at Q's terrified expression and made a decision. He lowered his gun and then handed it, handle first, to Silva, who took out the magazine and tossed the gun away, pocketing the bullets.

 

"What the hell do you want?" Bond gritted out through his teeth.

 

"Oh just for you to join our little party, right here. Q has been enjoying himself quite a lot already, haven't you, love?"

 

Q suddenly jerked, emitting a sound of distress, turned red and averted his eyes from James. He nearly choked himself trying to duck his head. Bond glanced down and noticed that Silva had slipped two fingers into Q's hole and was slowly and meticulously fingering him. Q's cock was hard and the flush on his face had spread to his neck.

 

The sight had sent a spike of arousal through Bond and he immediately hated himself for it. "Get your filthy paws off him!"

 

"Now, now, Mr. Bond, manners. Don't forget who's in charge here." Silva didn't miss a beat at James' outburst and his fingers continued to slowly work Q open, who had started to make little involuntary pleasure sounds through the gag. The only thing that changed is that Silva raised the gun again to Q's head. "Apologize."

 

James looked at Silva, at Q, at the gun and finally sighed, defeated. "I'm sorry," he forced out.

 

"That's a good boy. Now strip."

 

"What?" James asked bewildered.

 

"Are you hard of hearing? Take. Your. Clothes. Of. Now."

 

James had no choice but to comply. Slowly and reluctantly he took off his jacket, shirt, shoes, socks and finally his trousers. He felt stupid and exposed, standing in front of Silva like that.

 

"All of it, James," Silva sing-songed, pointing with the gun at the briefs Bond was still wearing.

 

Bond gritted his teeth, pulled them down and kicked them towards the pile of clothes to his right. He generally did not have a problem with nudity, but being naked and therefore vulnerable in front of a psychotic villain with a gun was a whole different cattle of fish.

Silva took his fingers out of Q and reached behind him. He pulled-out a set of handcuffs and extended them to James, his fingers glistening with lubricant. "Now put these on, please."

 

"You must be fucking..."

 

Bond abruptly stopped his tirade as Silva dropped the cuffs to the floor and yanked the rope around Q's neck, making him gasp for air and struggle, fresh tears welling up in his eyes.

 

"Stop! I'm doing it, ok?" James grabbed the cuff off the floor with slightly shaking hands and put them on.

 

Silva released the rope and allowed Q to catch his breath, petting him on the head. Bond noticed that Q still had an erection, meaning hopefully he wasn't in too much pain.

Silva pointed the gun at James. "Get on your knees, Mr. Bond."

 

James closed his eyes for a moment. He had suspected Silva would ask him to do something like this, but to actually do it was a bigger barrier than he had expected. James gulped, then slowly got on his knees.

 

"Closer, Mr. Bond, you know what you have to do."

 

Reluctantly, James opened Silva's trousers and pulled his underwear down. Silva's cock was thick and full, he was clearly enjoying his little sick game. Before he started, James glanced over to Q, which proved to be a mistake. Silva had his fingers back in Q's ass, three this time, but he wasn't moving them, Q was riding them with tiny, jerky movements, his eyes unfocussed and mouth slack with lust. The picture hit James so hard, he couldn't suppress a groan and wanted to kick himself as Silva's attention was drawn back to him.

 

"He is a pretty sight, isn't he? But so are you. I bet you'd be even prettier with my cock in your mouth."

James reluctantly swallowed and braced himself. He knew how to do this of course, but he had never been forced to, maybe surprising, considering the amount of times he had been captured and tortured, but then again the captors had to be fine with a man touching them intimately and most of them had been too obsessively macho for that. Not Silva, clearly.

 

Bond decided he would not let Silva get the best of him with this. It was only a blow-job. He's been through much worse ordeals. Besides, if he were to make a fuss, Silva might take it out on Q. Bond moistened his lips, opened his mouth and choked as Silva, clearly tired of waiting, shoved him further down. Fingers sticky with lubricant entwined in his hair and forced him to take his girth deeper.

 

Bond glared at Silva and relaxed his throat, trying not to set his gag-reflex off. Hoping to get this over with as soon as possible, he applied all his skill, hollowing his cheeks and tonguing the slit, but Silva would have none of it. Bond's head was grabbed tightly and all Bond's hope for any finesse in this act vanished as his mouth was ruthlessly fucked.

Just as he though Silva was about to come, James was pushed backwards, panting heavy, mouth bruised, a murderous look in his eyes.

"Ah, yes, I was right, he does look delicious like that. Don't you think?" Q looked back at Silva, eyes still glassy with arousal. One hand still on the gun, pointing unerringly at Bond's head, Silva removed Q's gag with the other and then removed his bindings. Bond wondered if Q had been drugged with anything considering his sluggish movements.

"Would you be a dear and secure Mr. Bond, so he can't do anything stupid?" ordered Silva.

 

To Bond´s surprise Q immediately moved off the couch on shaky legs and dropped to his knees in front of Bond. He took James´ shackled hands in his and smiled at him reassuringly. In his confusion, Bond did not quite catch what happened, before it was too late. His wrists were suddenly stuck to the floor where Q had clicked a heavy metal eyelet, that Bond hadn't even noticed was there, on the chin of the cuffs, trapping Bond in an awkward forward-leaning position.

 

"Hey! What the bloody..."

 

Q had moved to grab Bond's ankles and secure them, spread out, with leather cuffs attached to the floor. Bond twisted and tried to shake him off, slightly panicking.

 

"Q, what do you think you're doing? We could have taken him on with the two of us!"

 

Q moves back into Bond's line of sight, his face suddenly serious and his eyes cold.

"And what if I don't want to take him on? Al least, not in the way you are suggesting?" Bond looked on in dumbfounded horror as Q effortlessly climbed back on the couch and straddled Silva. They kissed, sloppy and open mouthed.

 

"Are you surprised, Mr. Bond? Of course pretty young things have always been a bit of a weakness of yours. But I'm afraid Q here might be a bit more than you can handle. I've known him for a while. Smart, ambitious and very pretty. Not much in touch with morals, I'm afraid, but I personally like working with sociopaths. No misplaced sentiments and very good acting skills. I especially liked the tears, didn't you?"

 

"The tears were real, you cunt, you choked me pretty badly," Q quipped, sliding off Silva's lap and sitting down on the couch next to him.

 

"Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it," Silva threw back.

Bond's face turned grim, anger replacing any worry he had. The ease with which Silva had hacked the MI6 system suddenly made a lot of sense.

 

"So he works for you. Good to know. What the fuck do you want?"

 

"I've already told you what I want, James, keep up." Silva reached up and circled Q's nipple, making him shudder, then licked the other. Bond hated how his body reacted to the display, his cock becoming half hard at the erotic display.

"Tell me, Mr. Bond," asks Silva, matter-of-factly, while still playing with Q's body, "have you ever had your prostate milked?"

 

Bond just stared at him as if he was completely insane and wondered when the word had stopped making sense. In the back of his mind he did register the concept Silva was talking about. He knew what it entailed in theory, but had never been compelled to try it out. The whole thing had seemed unappealing and frustrating, rather than arousing.

 

Q got up from the couch and took Bond's chin in his hand, his grip bruising and much stronger than Bond had expected from the slim man. With the thumb of the other hand, Q brushed over Bond's swollen lips. Bond struggled out of his grip and tried to bite Q's hand.

 

"Why are you doing this?!"

 

"Because I want to. Do I need another reason?"

Silva looked on with amusement as Bond tried to pull the handcuffs loose to no avail and Q just calmly walked around him, tracing his fingers over Bond's back until he paused behind him and grabbed the lube from the coffee table.

By then Bond decided that the best course of action would be to try not to react at all, grit his teeth and, well, lie back and think of England, so to speak. There was no way for him to get out of the bindings and making a scene would probably just amuse his captors.

Despite his determination to not react, Bond involuntarily clenched his muscles and flinched away as a slick finger entered him. Q would have nothing of it and grabbed his hip to hold him in place as he slowly and dutifully worked him open. It didn't seem to be either about pleasure or pain initially, that is until two of Q's fingers slipped all the way in and unerringly found Bond's prostate. He gasped and grunted as a spike of arousal shot through his body, stirring his cock back to life.

But the pressure wasn't quite as satisfactory as it was supposed to be. Q's fingers strokes and massaged his prostate, light touches, not pushing, but coaxing. A tension was building in his body, making Bond shiver and shake. He felt like he was too big for his skin, the sensations were both too much and not enough. His cock was still half-hard, without the sufficient stimulation, but despite that, he felt himself already leaking pre-come.

 

The building pressure in his body was all-consuming, making him unable to close himself off from the sensations or to concentrate on anything else, so when he suddenly heard Silva's voice in his ear, whispering filthy comments, he hadn't even realized the man had moved from his seat on the couch, making himself flinch and jerk away, impaling himself further on Q's fingers. Bond cursed after the action ripped an involuntary moan out of him. Silva grabbed him by his neck and shoulder to keep him in place and licked the shell of his ear.

"He's got such talented fingers, doesn't he? He could bring the world to its knees with those fingers, you know? He's already got you on the edge doesn't he? That building pleasure, the way your body is giving up its juices, without granting you that sweet release you so long for."

 

"Fuck you," Bond spat.

 

"Now, now, Mr. Bond, just about an hour ago this was all you were thinking about, wasn't it? Or are you only interested in a sweet, submissive partner? Because then you've misjudged our dear Q severely."

 

Bond was well aware of that statement, but he was damned if he would admit it to the likes of Silva. Trying to block out the man's taunts unfortunately made him focus his attention to his body and the sensations it was experiencing. Q was still working on his prostate and as the fingers of his other hand brushed over his cock, it released a first spurt of come. However, the anticipated release wasn't there, instead the pleasure and pressure simply grew, making Bond's arms buckle and leaving him shaking, resting on his elbows, with his head on the floor.

 

His body was now steadily releasing, making Bond gasp and groan, his muscles contracting around Q's fingers and letting out a string of curses and mutters he wasn't even aware of any more.

The pleasure was slowly turning to discomfort, but the all-encompassing need was still there, bringing tears of frustration to James' eyes.

 

When Q finally wrenched his fingers out of James, it ripped a sob out of him, his body sending him mixed messages.

 

Q walked over to Bond's front, grabbed him by the hair and lifted his head.

 

"Open your mouth," Q ordered.

 

Bond was so groggy that he did so without thinking and Q unceremoniously shoved his cock between his lips, making Bond choke and his eyes water.

 

"Oh and Mr. Bond, I would think twice before you decide to bite down. Q will have no restrictions whatsoever to blow your brains out. God knows, he's done it before." And indeed, Bond felt the cold pressure of a gun barrel against the side of his head. Q didn't wait for Bond to adjust, instead he started to fuck his mouth with abandon, groaning his pleasure.

 

Silva moved behind James, spread his cheeks and shoved his cock into his abused hole. Bond stiffened, being invaded from two sides, assaulted by too many feelings and sensations, his body screaming out.

 

Silva sought his own release, fucking into Bond hard and fast, but made sure to angle his trusts thus as to hit Bond's over-sensitive prostate. The stimulation sent Bond into a painful, dry orgasm. The pleasure crashing through his body with an overwhelming _too much, too much, please stop_. Without Silva and Q holding him up between them, he would have long collapsed. Tears streaming freely down his face now, much more a physical than an emotional reaction, Bond had no strength left to try to get away from the dual assault.

 

Silva groaned and orgasmed, finally pulling his cock out of Bond, who practically sobbed with relieve. Bond's distress seemed to have aroused Q more as he gave a few deep thrusts, pulled his cock out and came all over James' face.

 

Without Q and Silva's support, Bond collapsed to the floor, his body shaking, involuntary sobs, born out of exhaustion and frustration, wrecking through his body. Dimly he heard a click of a camera, the rustling of clothes and then he felt a hand brush through his hair.

 

 

"Goodbye Mr. Bond, I'm looking forward to the day our paths cross again. Don't worry, I've sent a distress signal to MI6, they should be here in a few minutes to get you out of these restraints."

**Author's Note:**

> While this fic is of course a bit of an exaggeration, I have actually done a bit of research and both this way of prostate milking as well as a dry orgasm is possible and sometimes performed, mostly in bdsm relationships as a form of orgasm denial.


End file.
